


Defiling Greatness

by Kazooli



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Biting, Branding, Choking, Deepthroating, Dry Humping, F/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:40:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kazooli/pseuds/Kazooli
Summary: “You’re sick!” You threw the knife aside, fearing what you might do with it in such a turbulent state of mind. Your hands wrapped around his throat, and you squeezed and shook him, rag dolling his head into the ground in hopes of wiping that ridiculous look off his face. “I’m about to kill you, and you’re fucking hard! What the hell is wrong with you!?”
Relationships: Komaeda Nagito/Reader
Comments: 30
Kudos: 271





	Defiling Greatness

“I took the time to prepare everything for you. There’s no reason to be so modest.”

It reeked of bleach. Carriage bolts held plywood firmly over each window, and every vent looked as if it had been stuffed with pillows to keep any and all sounds from travelling any further than the walls of the premises. Instruments of torture ranging from homeowner tools to medical grade scalpels were neatly aligned on a sheet of plastic that still squared itself off with what little time it had to set after being unfolded. And Nagito; sweet, delusional, hopeful Nagito laid in the center of it all, tied down by his own hand that gestured for you to do the honors and cinch the last rope around his wrist.

Indeed, the warehouse you had followed him into was primed for what he anticipated to be the perfect crime.

“You can’t just...” His inviting smile that forced his eyes to squint under the pressure of his cheeks only grew fonder as you encroached on the wide gap between his legs with a pocket knife held tightly in your hand. He was always grossly optimistic. His “I’m just happy to be here” attitude applied to just about any situation: murders, investigations, trials, and now his own torture. You fixated on the tarp underneath of him, desperately trying to block out the twinges of guilt and disgust brought on by seeing the look of pure bliss on his face. “You can’t just go around terrorizing people and expect everyone to put up with it.” The words left your mouth in a hurry. Had Nagito not have prepared everything for you, this encounter would’ve been treated with the same care. Rushed. Sloppy. It was as if he had anticipated you would already be thinking about returning to your cottage before you stepped foot in his playhouse.

But Nagito; sweet, delusional, hopeful Nagito liked to draw things out, take things slow and convolute them. He liked to make the most of his time.

“I didn’t expect that at all.” He dismissed the thought with a wave of his soon-to-be restrained hand. “Ultimates like yourself have such a strong sense of justice. It was only a matter of time before I got my just desserts, that’s why I went through the trouble of making it easier for you all.” He gave you his full attention, making polite eye contact and even going as far as giving you windows to speak as you secured a lighter from the display of tools. “Although, if I’m being honest, you were the last person I expected to show up. I’m so flattered that my actions have inspired you of all people to carry out such a despair-inducing act in order to create a foundation for hope!”

The last person he expected. 

Hope and despair as he understood them were foreign concepts to those who could only agree on their basic principle. Hope arises from despair, no one could argue against that, but Nagito took it a step further and insisted on action. The end justifying the means and a willful participation in the means to reach a more hopeful end was the moral code by which he lived his life. You were the only one who took the time to try to understand him, and it was for that reason that you out of all of the others took the opportunity to take him down. Only you knew the extent of how dangerous he was.

You were the first person he should’ve expected.

With the knife and lighter in hand, you crouched down by his head and grabbed the frayed end of the rope. “This is your last chance.” You took his still wrist into your trembling hand. “Tell me what you’re planning and what you’ve done, and we can walk out of here together like this whole thing never happened.”

Nagito merely laughed; the pleasant one, the one he would pervert into a rasping cackle to taunt you all into silence. “You know I can’t do that. That’d be getting in the way of your hope!”

You always hoped he’d see reason, but as you tied down his remaining limb and heard his hum of approval for a completely barbaric act, you knew he was beyond saving. There was no hope for him. 

Unable to stomach seeing his face any longer, you moved down his body, straddled his waist, and raised his shirt to expose the lean muscles of his torso. Nagito lifted his head to watch your show of holding the lighter to each side of the three inch blade. Had it been you laying there, you would’ve been squealing by now, leaving no question unanswered and no threat underestimated. But if Nagito and you were anything alike, you wouldn’t have had to resort to this at all.

Incredulously, he asked, “You’re gonna burn me?”

“You’ll either pass out from the pain or give in and tell me, but you won’t die.” So cold. So foreign coming out of the same mouth that told him just a week prior that he could always rely on you.

Always one to find a silver lining, Nagito beamed, “It’s just like an Ultimate to think of such an ingenious torture method! I really am lucky to be on the receiving end of such talent!”

You shook your head in disbelief, but expected nothing less. At this point, any reaction to his theatrics was simply habit. 

“This really is amazing. Friends killing each other for a chance at finding a sliver of hope as they face despair at every turn. Is there a better way to go other than at the hands of an Ultimate, determined to save--”

A deep breath was surprisingly all it took to bring the flat side of the blade to his stomach. Nagito took in a breath of his own that lodged itself in his throat and only came out in squeaks. His hands gripped the ropes and tugged until they creaked. His stomach tightened. His hips lifted in agony. The blade had cooked his skin on impact, searing it a mauvish-crimson that started to swell as soon you let it hover above his navel.

“Tell me what you’re planning, Nagito!” When he showed no sign of responding, you pressed the knife against an unmarked patch of skin once more. “I’m not fucking around!”

Nagito smiled through the pain, drooling through gritted teeth and thrashing his head in the throes of his torment. He laughed. He laughed at you, at the pain, at the prospect of bringing about a new kind of hope that was born out of calculated despair. Desperate for answers and provoked into action, you repeated the process of giving him a few short seconds of leniency before finding a new part of his body to mutilate and scar. 

“Does knowing you’ll be able to save your friends by killing me fill you with hope?” His question started with a laugh and died out with a moan. “Or is the despair of torturing a friend and putting an end to his miserable existence too much for you to come back from?” 

The slap to his face could’ve been mistaken for a clap. It put tears in his eyes, but no more than the tears already streaming from your own. 

“I’m not gonna kill you,” you sobbed. “I was never gonna kill you.”

Nagito scoffed. “What a waste. Hope is on your doorstep, and you can’t even be bothered to invite it inside. Some Ultimate you are.” Biting back your rage, you held the pointed tip of the knife against his throat and huffed out the last of your tears. Murderous intent presented itself in your eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed with a hearty swallow, and the knife etched a small, white scratch into his throat. “Wow...you truly are incredible. Such hope in the face of despair.”

His whole body had broken out into a blush. You could hardly focus at the task at hand when his lewd huffs and squirming tongue demanded your attention. His chest heaved, and his pants grew tighter and tighter until you could feel the press of what you understood at the time to be a fear-induced erection.

“Sorry, all this talk of hope has gotten me a little excited.”

“You’re sick!” You threw the knife aside, fearing what you might do with it in such a turbulent state of mind. Your hands wrapped around his throat, and you squeezed and shook him, rag dolling his head into the ground in hopes of wiping that _ridiculous_ look off his face. “I’m about to kill you, and you’re fucking hard! What the hell is wrong with you!?”

The harder you choked, the harder his gyrating hips pressed against the fattened area between your butt and thighs. He humped you with such vigor and audacity that, had your hands not been secured around his throat, you would’ve toppled over. He wheezed, moaned, and groaned and drooled more saliva onto the hair under his neck. When you let go--when his face turned bright purple and you forced yourself to let go--he gasped with such salaciousness that your own insides began to tremble.

“A lowly nobody like me using an Ultimate to get off in my final hour. It’s criminal!” You slapped him hard enough to leave behind a raised welt, but his pain and your anger only spurred him on more. “You wouldn’t want someone like me to defile your greatness. Kill me. Do it.”

You’ll never know what came over you. Hope. Despair. Whatever it was, it had you tossing your humanity to the side in favor of primal retribution. You gripped his upper arms, pinning them down and vaulting yourself up to latch your teeth onto his neck. With enough pressure to break through his skin, you bit down and shook your head like a rabid dog defending its territory. The taste of sweat and blood assaulted your senses. You drooled with him, onto him, into the fresh bite marks that were a few pascals short of tearing off his skin. 

And he _loved_ it.

“Yes! Yes! This is... _oh fu--_ use me! Please, let me be your beacon of hope!”

Nagito turned his head and brought it down to his shoulder, forcing you to release him. Your tongue lolled out to taste your bloodied lips, and it wasn’t alone in its indulgence. His tongue swiped across your own, and before your knew it, he was flicking at it, desperately trying to get it into his own mouth. When you finally relented and felt the hot press of his lips against yours, his chest purred with an overwhelming calmness as if a single sloppy kiss was enough to atone for two decades worth of misery.

“Ish thish wha hope tastshes like?” His cock twitched hard enough to readjust in his pants. A shiver worked its way down your spine as you allowed yourself to grind back. Your pussy, already wet from the heat of the moment, milked itself in vain, squeezing itself and throbbing on the release. It was pitiful. It was bestial. 

It wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy either of you. 

Your resolve was simple and quick. You pulled back from the kiss and drug the knife down his body. Over his collarbones, down his chest, in between blisters and burnt tissues until it caught on his jeans just above the button. 

You looked up at him with only your eyes and tapped the point of the blade against the button.

He gulped.

“Tell me where they are,” you whispered, lowly.

Frustrated, Nagito averted his eyes, “Ah, is this--? Man, I really am worthless trash if I’m seriously considering throwing away my plans just to get off.”

This was your trump card. Before regret could settle anymore than it already had, you forced your hand onto his clothed cock and curled your fingers as tightly around it as you could, slowly and awkwardly jerking him off through his pants. 

Close, but still not enough.

“What did a lowly, insignificant waste of space like myself do to deserve an Ultimate’s touch?”

Your hand stilled.

“That’s not the answer I’m looking for.”

Nagito pressed his head against the floor and sighed. Finally, he relented, “There’s a bomb set to go off at noon in the kitchen of the hotel’s restaurant. I’m the only one with the code to disarm it, and I’m not telling you what that code is. Can you believe that? The only one capable of saving everyone is a stupid nobody with--”

Nagito’s words trailed off with a peaceful sigh as he felt your hand wrap around his painfully stiff cock. An experimental pump was all it took to get his hips moving again. He thrust into your fist, muttering praise for you and contempt for himself. Lowly, stupid, worthless--whatever. 

“Would it be too much to ask for you to use your mouth? Ah, who am I kidding? Of course it would be. You should use my dirty mouth for your own pleasure! Someone like me doesn’t deserve to get off.”

Your face scrunched in embarrassment, “S-Shut up. You’re so...annoying.”

You held his cock steady in your open palm and gathered all the saliva in your mouth onto your tongue before licking a long, wet stripe up his shaft. Your lips smacked against his pink cockhead; one last kiss that ended with your lips wrapping around its entirety. You sucked gently, tasting the salty precum for what it was before it mixed with the taste of blood, sweat, and saliva.

With hardly enough energy to sustain himself, Nagito thrust his hips forward in small, quick jerks as he stretched out your slender neck with every hump against your lips. Pistoning in and out of swallowing muscles, the head of his cock bumped the bottom of your throat with every intention of getting his cock as close to your stomach as humanly possible. His balls pulled taut against his body, thrumming under your chin as they pumped their virile loads up his mouth-hilted shaft. Your vision blurred as you throated him. The adrenaline that had been coursing through your veins since you left your cottage had been cut off. As you came down from that high, Nagito shuddered your name, overwhelmed by the tight suck that refused to release him even after he was cumming dry.

“11037! 11037!”

You pulled your lips off of him with a resounding pop and let his cock fall limp against his stomach. 

“Don’t you ever pull this shit again!” 

You left as quickly as you came, leaving Nagito bound with a knife in his hand in good faith. Unfortunately for everyone, if anyone could get out of that mess of ropes, it would be Nagito.

You had gotten what you came for. That was your trump card. That was the mean that was justified by the end. That was your way of apologizing for the permanent scars he’d no doubt have after this night. Nothing more. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my first non-BNHA fic :3! Come say hi to me on tumblr @kazooli


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